Remus Lupin and the Day of Servitude
by MinervaEvenstar
Summary: Remus and Sirius have been dating for months. It's perfect until Remus loses a bet and has to do ANYTHING Sirius wants. Guarantees laughs and slashy-goodness. Don't read if it's not your cup of tea, but you're missing great tea! Marauders' era. Remus' PoV
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Well, the last I heard Harry Potter was not mine, but I'm so amazing that I could have acquired ownership without knowing it!

** Remus Lupin and the Day of Servitude **

Chapter One

"You two got _another_ detention?" I am astounded, though I realise that I should not be.

"Yeah." James shrugs, unconcerned, and flops onto the nearest common room settee. He calls across the expanse of lush carpet, "Hey, Evans, if you come up to the Astronomy Tower with me tonight you can –"

"Shove you off?" she retorts hopefully, not looking up from her the long roll of parchment on which her assignment is written.

James and I both shake our heads. James because he is attempting to pretend her perpetual rejections do not bruise his ego; me because I know he is going about his pursuit of the studious redhead improperly. Not that I have a right to be judgmental since James, not me, is responsible for the success of my own love life.

"What's the detention for?" As opposed to my appalled reaction, Peter sounds impressed. He's keen to hear about the adventure instead of unsuccessfully attempting to copy my essay. I never hesitate to assist with my comrades' assignments as long as they request it, but I have a problem with them merely copying because it fails to prove that they have learned anything.

"Jynxing Snape." Sirius is much more interested in his task of bodily lifting me from the squashy armchair, sitting down, and placing me on his lap than answering Peter's question.

"Again?" I put forth my best efforts to ignore the stares Sirius and I are receiving by shifting my focus to James. "What did he do to you this time?" Sometimes, they pick on Snape without provocation, however, he often randomly uses one of his formidable Dark hexes on James in the corridors. Despite the fact that I disapprove of their fighting, I do not expect my friends to endure such treatment without retaliating.

"Not me." James takes out his scroll of Quidditch plays to work on since he's captain this year. I admire how James applies one hundred percent of himself to everything that he does. Even if the impressive will power is also exploited by mischief making, such dedication is rare and irreplaceable in a friend. "He said stuff to Sirius it's not his business to know about."

"Oh." The mild annoyance I originally felt about the situation immediately dissipates. My head tilts upwards to regard the boy whose lap I occupy. "About your family?"

"No." Sirius' hot breath tickles my ear as he whispers, "He called me a werewolf's bitch." Anytime Snape makes allusions to my condition Sirius loses his temper because it was his fault that Snape found out. I've forgiven Sirius, though Sirius has yet to forgive himself. "Dunno why Old Sluggie was annoyed when he found out what we'd done to him. It was no worse than if Snivelly passed out from dehydration."

I regard him doubtfully. "Dehydration?"

"It's when someone gets really thirsty," he explains wisely.

"Thanks for clearing that up for me," I say sarcastically before continuing quietly, "You shouldn't sink to a level that's beneath you for my sake."

"Who said anything about you? It was an insult about _my_ masculinity." He grins to lighten the mood. Sirius never feels comfortable acting…serious. A comedic, carefree nature is the defense mechanism he developed to survive his prejudice relatives. "Everyone knows you're my bitch, not the other way around."

"Actually, everyone doesn't know, and I'd prefer to keep it that way." I extract myself from my boyfriend. For the benefit of the onlookers, I pleasantly remark in a normal volume, which admittedly is not much louder, "You know, Sirius, if you wanted my chair all you had to do was ask." The other students chortle while I reseat adjacent to James. "How do you plan on finishing your homework if you have more punishments?"

"We don't." James and Sirius' synchronised speech causes the eyes of the room's occupants to widen and then chatter amongst themselves about the 'weird connection' the Marauders share. I am too accustomed to their habit to have a reaction. In all honesty, I'm calm most of the time. I despise losing mastery of my actions when I become the wolf, thus self-control during my time in human form is immensely significant. The only person that has ever shattered my composure more than once is Sirius. He can do it whenever he wishes if he tries. It terrifies me, but somehow I can't get enough of it. The aspect that it's addictive makes it even more frightening. I am certain that Sirius could stop being around me at any moment if he wanted to.

Peter warns, "McGonagall's gonna kill you for being punished again."

"Nah, Minnie loves us." James assures, winking behind his thick spectacle lenses.

"Maybe, but she'll still be disappointed, and I don't blame her." The three of them exchange that look they give when I go into what they refer to as 'Lecture Mode.' "I bet you couldn't go two weeks without being reprehensible for an abhorrence."

"Repre-what-able? Ab-whore-ants?" James stares at me with fond exasperation. "Bloody hell, did you _swallow_ a dictionary?"

I open my mouth to utter as witty a comeback as I can muster, though Sirius licks his lips and answers James first. "Someday I plan on having sweet, innocent Remy swallow something more interesting than a dictionary."

I am convinced my face shall create flames. Honestly, how could my skin be so hot and NOT catch fire? That would be the best ending to a pre-transformation day, wouldn't it? I'm sure Merlin would think so. After all, I don't have enough problems. Of course not. Gay teenage werewolves have the easiest, most dull lives in this day and age, don't they? I know! Why not spice it up by having my head randomly combust from embarrassment in the middle of the common room?

Gratitude fills me when James speaks again so I don't have to concoct an adequate comment to follow Sirius' remark. "Not a mental image I need before dinner, Padfoot. Anyway, if his posh words mean I'd have to go half a month without having fun he'd win that wager."

"Speak for yourself, Prongs." The face that Sirius turns to me is somewhat peculiar. "What're the stakes?"

Mercifully, the blush recedes and my voice sounds tranquil. "I wasn't really betting. It's a figure of speech."

Sirius wags his finger petulantly. "Oh, no, Mr. Moony. You offered and I'm taking you up on it."

This is ridiculous. I ought to be considering my upcoming O.W.L.s not a pointless gambol. I return to my essay and say indifferently, "Doesn't matter. Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want? Okay, I accept." Without visual evidence I deduce the devious smirk Sirius is sporting.

"Wait! What?" My gaze snaps up from the parchment to Sirius. My instincts tell me that something very, very drastic just occurred, and if I had been more heedful of the conversation I could have prevented it.

James chimes in, "You did say it, mate. Padfoot took advantage of you fair and square." He observes me with parent-to-offspring pity for a vulnerable child in over his head, and Sirius with man-to-man pride for a bloke who drove home the prettiest woman at a party home and got more than a goodnight kiss as a reward.

A nervous knot twists in my stomach. "What exactly did you decide the stakes were?"

"Whatever the winner, which'll be me, wants. The loser has to be the other's obedient slave for a day." This sounds foreboding, and I'm not comforted by the term 'slave' or the predatory inflection in Sirius' dark eyes.

I stare into the fire and imagine the possible results of this. Sirius and I have been together for six months, ever since James locked us up together in a broom closet and said through the wooden door, "I'm sick of the pair of you stealing lustful at one another when you think nobody's looking. If I don't hear some intense snogging within ten seconds I'm gonna shrink you and send you off to become oompa loompas." Yes, I regret having him watch _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_, yet I don't regret him putting me with Sirius. To be obnoxious about James' instructions, Sirius made certain that we were very loud…I better stop remembering such pleasant things in the centre of a room full of people.

Anyway, in our half a dozen months thereafter of being a couple we have not had sex. Every few weeks, during one of our copious snogging sessions, Sirius asks me if I'm ready to go farther and when I remorsefully say 'no' he never gets upset with me. Nonetheless, I know that Sirius is not a patient man. I'm amazed that he has accepted my celibacy this long when none of the other people he dated forced him to do so. This slavery idea would be the perfect opportunity for him to pressure me into it. How can I make him perceive why I believe us making love is an unwise idea?

"I wish this bet never happened," I mutter.

"Why're you telling the fire? How's it supposed to help?" Peter asks. "Make your wishes on stars."

In mock indignation, Sirius cuffs the back of Peter's head. "I'm the only star he'll be doing anything on!"

That's what I'm worried about.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two 

Well, now it's been two weeks and Sirius kept out of trouble. My day of servitude has only begun and I am reluctant to do as I'm instructed.

"I don't want to do this."

"You have no choice, Moony."

"Why are you going to make me -"

"I've got my reasons."

Desolately, I scrutinise the large rectangular mirror reflecting Sirius and I. Due to Sirius' absurd command, I am dressed in pearly high heeled boots and a matching white mini skirt. The ensemble is capped off by a bell-sleeved, pale blue corset top that Sirius insists brings out the colour of my eyes. My shoulder length, light brown hair is pinned back by bluish-white barrettes to reveal the minimal amount of cosmetics on my face. Though I am loath to admit it, I almost look like an attractive girl, albeit a flat chested one. Beside me, Sirius is wearing a simple black silk shirt and plain matching trousers and shoes, yet on his fit body with an outrageously handsome visage attached, he manages to appear more sophisticated than a bloke in a business suit.

"The perfect couple." Sirius smiles at our reflection. "The mysterious man in black and his virgin in white."

"And then, Evans turned me down AGAIN becau…" James abruptly trails off as he and Peter amble through the dormitory door.

Peter blinks. "If gay people do _this_ in their spare time, it's good to be straight."

James approaches me and eyes me up and down critically; I feel myself flush with mortification. Instead of addressing me, he turns to Sirius. "He looks…remarkably pretty." For some reason, James seems uncomfortable.

Sirius only laughs. "You'll get used to it."

"If you say so," responds James skeptically.

My boyfriend offers, "If you'd prefer, I'll sing so."

"Ugh, no thanks. You're not planning on taking him out like that, are you?" Why is confident James so disquieted by this?

Considering that the discussion is about me, I decide to intercede, "Of course he is, but he won't tell me where, or why I've got to go dressed like this."

James nods in acknowledgement to me, yet continues to converse with Sirius, "Padfoot, are you sure -"

"Very sure. I'll be with him the whole time."

Peter pipes up, "How come he's gotta wear that anyway?"

I sigh. "Don't bother asking; you won't get a straight answer."

"Well, it'd be hard for a poof to give a straight answer," he points out as if it's a phenomenal insight.

"Enough of this." Sirius theatrically waves his hand for silence. He grabs his broom from inside the unorganised horde of objects in his trunk, and mounts it gracefully. He pats a portion of the wood in front of him. "C'mon, Moony."

I eye the handle mistrustfully. "Is one broom going hold our combined weight?"

"Are you calling me fat?" The corner of his lip twitches, ruining the effect of the affronted tone he was trying to use.

I cannot resist a chuckle. "You know I am."

"You bitch!" His hand comes forward in a swift arc and I anticipate a pretend slap to the cheek. Then, at the last nanosecond, the fingers caress my jawbone instead. "You'll have to be punished, my lovely werewolf." The voice is low and unmercifully flirtatious. Against my will I feel various shades of pink decourate my face as every single solitary one of my nerves grows on fire with lust at the sound.

Peter emits a strangled noise and the moment is shattered. "Don't you two have somewhere to go?"

Sirius has apparent difficulty rending his gaze from me, and this minor thing is so flattering that I am unable to banish my infuriating blush. "Yep. Later, Wormtail." He pats the broomstick again. "Let's go, Rem."

Still agnostic, I seat myself in front of him. My fingers wrap around the wood that's between my legs. Sirius leans forward to clutch the end of the handle; he shall be steering. His muscular chest swathed in silk is pressing into my back. I would relish it if I were not so nervous.

James opens the window and steps aside so we can take our aerial departure. "Have fun, lads. Do anything I wouldn't do."

I stare down dubiously at him from my position on the sweeping device that is levitating. "That doesn't leave much out of the realm of possibility."

"Exactly!" Sirius and James cackle in unison as we speed out into the bright afternoon.

Although the sun is blinding, the air is cold. Wind is created as Sirius rapidly slices through the air and my mini skirt blows in the breeze. Unfortunately, I am too nauseous to release the handle I'm gripping for dear life to hold down the material. I can fly fairly well, but I never soar as high or as fast as James and Sirius. A groan of anxiety escapes me.

Sirius hears and shouts over the gale, "What's up?"

"My skirt." The words come out from between gritted teeth. If I open my mouth, even to speak, I might vomit.

"Ah." He doesn't sound surprised.

"You knew this would happen." It is not a question. Instinct and years of knowing Sirius inform me that it is true.

"Maybe…" Even though he is behind me I can tell he's smirking.

"Damn you, Sirius!" I wish I had not unbarred my yap to reprimand him since it caused me to feel more motion sick than ever.

"Don't worry, I won't let anyone get a show of my Moony. You're for my eyes only." Without further ado he lifts one of his hands and grabs the billowing cloth. He clasps it securely to the broom with his strong fingers. The problem is that the skirt is so short that his hand is left perilously close to my groin. I silently pray for him not to notice. "This would be the perfect opportunity for me to feel you up." So much for religion.

My eyelids and jaw are clamped tightly; it is a miracle that I can manage one word. "Don't."

He buries his face into the nape of my neck. "You didn't say 'please.'" A few of his digits remain grasping the fabric to the lumber whilst the others wander. He touches my most intimate parts through the garment.

My heart is hammering so hard I imagine it wishes to burst from my chest. For once, it is not a result of passion. "Please, don't," I manage to ground out.

The exploring fingertips locate the waistband of the skirt and twitch, wanting to go inside. "You aren't enjoying this a _little_ bit?" The question is seductive and hot beside my earlobe. A tongue caresses it.

"No." It's the truth. I am too near fainting and\or regurgitating my lunch to be aroused.

Heated kisses shower upon my hair. "Really?" He invariably has a difficult time believing himself resistible, and with good reason.

My animal senses suddenly instruct me to beware and my eyes snap open. We are about to collide with a trio of fluttering Cornish Pixies. "Sirius, watch where you're going!"

Finally, he lifts his head to pay attention to the surrounding sky as opposed to me. His hand on the end of the stick swerves us out of the way with considerably less finesse than James would have. My stomach churns sickeningly, but at least we did not crash. Sirius is laughing with reckless abandon. If I had faith in my ability to control my gag reflex I would chastise him for it.

Soon we plummet towards the ground. The updraft screams in my ears, daring me to keep down my food. We come to an abrupt halt a few inches above a concrete road. "Well, that was fun." Sirius gives the area below my hips a final stroke ere he dismounts. He gallantly offers his hand to help me down. Too woozy to decline, I take it and get shakily from the broom. "You okay?" He regards me with concern as he lazily waves his wand to shrink the Nimbus 1000 and deposit it in his pocket.

I rub one sweaty palm to my forehead and the other to my abdomen. "I feel more nauseated than I did when we found out about Filch and Pince."

"Oh, so you weren't joking when you said you didn't want me to that stuff." Sirius scarcely ever tells anyone 'I'm sorry,' but the look he bestows me with is apologetic.

Smiling tiredly, I give into my habit of reassuring others. After all, it costs me nothing to do so. "Under normal circumstances I would've liked it. Probably too much."

"You _definitely_ would've liked it too much. I'd have made sure of that." Mollified, Sirius' usual enticingly arrogant grin materialises. "So, d'you wanna walk around till you feel better before we head to dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"Yep. I made us reservations at The Spellcastor."

"The Spellcastor?"

He chuckles, a deep masculine sound that makes my stomach do an entirely different flip-flop from the type caused by the broom. "Are you going to keep repeating what I say all night? 'Cause if you are I can think of a few things I'd like to hear from your lips."

"Er…" I mutter. Such an immensely intellectual statement, right? "I'm just surprised. That's one of the most difficult restaurants to get into since it has live entertainment." It is also in a wizarding village a score of miles from Hogsmeade. At least we aren't too far away from Hogwarts.

"I know. Being a Black does have its advantages sometimes." His smile is grim, not the one of carefree confidence I'm used to.

That is not an occurrence I can bear, ergo I reach over and slide my fingertips lightly over his perfect face. "Why would you use your family influence when you hate them?"

He catches one of my fingers in his mouth and sucks provocatively. He waits until he hears me gasp with delight before releasing it and cheekily responding, "I didn't get you all dressed up to avoid showing you off."

The beginnings of indignation bubble within me. "You mean you did this to me so-"

He cuts me off smoothly, "So, I could be seen in public with you? Yes. That's one of my two reasons. See, even when we go to places like this, where nobody knows us, you don't let it be obvious that we're together. I guess I understand; your condition makes you naturally fear prejudice. Just because I understand doesn't make it easier. I never hide my feelings about anything, so it's hard for me not to show people that I care about you. I want to get in front of the Great Hall and sing a song that tells everyone how nice you are and that you're mine, but you never let me do things of that sort."

My vexation is instantly replaced by guilt in spite of his apparent lack of anger, and I fail to pry about his other motive. "I-I don't mean to be this way. I think that I'd be a private person even if I weren't a werewolf. All wrapped up in modesty and secrets…" I trail off, incapable of deducing what else I ought to add, yet he does not appear to be bothered.

"S'okay. Your shyness is pretty damn cute most of the time." He pulls me into an embrace, which he normally doesn't do unless we are alone, or with James and Peter. I see the point in his desire for simple public displays of affection.

**Minerva's Note: **Wow, I didn't anticipate that so many people would be interested in this story! I liked it quite a bit, but because it's different from my usual (in the sense that I do fics about how they get together and have a smutty ending, instead of ones like this where they're together from the beginning doing 'things' every chapter) I was uncertain about posting it. Now, my insecurity is gone – even if Remus' isn't – and as long as everyone stays intrigued I shall be more than willing to keep updating. By the way, in case you were wondering, the point of the title becomes clear in the final installment.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I bury my face into Sirius' neck, feeling his pulse, absorbing his scent. I am grateful for the warmth since the temperature around us is dropping and the light is fading.

"You wanted to eradicate my fret of homophobic observers. Henceforth, you made me crossdress so I _wouldn't_ feel awkward." I make a half-amused, half-shocked noise. "You mystify me." I cannot say another word because his lips cover mine and his tongue is in my mouth doing things that are sensually slow and ravenously rapid.

After a time that could be twenty seconds or twenty minutes, though is most likely somewhere in between, our oral cavities part and our foreheads rest against each other's. I pant, "Merlin, Padfoot, what was _that_ for?"

"You've got no idea, do you?" He simpers and his arms tighten around me.

I blink at him in perplexity as I relearn how to breathe. "About how mystifying you are?"

"About how sexy you are when you talk with the vocabulary of a professor." He gently grasps my chin and murmurs into my lips, "You make me want to stay after class and earn extra credit." My eyelids flutter shut in the anticipation of another kiss. "Up to eating now?" I reopen my eyes and can conceive by his devious expression that he could be indicating literal or metaphorical 'eating.'

"Well, our Spellcastor reservation won't keep forever." I pull away from Sirius and wait for him to lead the way.

He clasps my hand in his and ambles down the street. I fall in step beside him as naturally as I always do. The silence between us is comfortable and remains unbroken until we approach a building constructed of gleaming pine wood.

"Do you have a table reserved?" an usher in a clean grey suit asks us at the entrance.

Sirius answers casually, "It's for two and under the name of Baby Got Back."

I bite my lip to contain my incredulous laughter as the unnerved man glances at the scroll of names hovering nearby. "Please, follow me Mister…Baby?"

We stroll through the maze of dining sets that have a golden tablecloth and a glowing coloured crystal at each one. Every so often the crystals float upwards and rotate to a different table so that all of the guests experience the ambiance of various hues. We stop by a circular table surrounded by two elegantly carved chairs that is beside a strange dance floor in front of the levitating stage. "Here you go. Your server will be with you shortly." The usher hands us both a menu ere returning to his post.

I can withhold my amusement not a second longer. Once my chortling subsides, I inquire, "Do I want to know why you used that name?"

Sirius seems to take pleasure from my display of happiness. "We've both got fantastic arses. How could I _not_ use it? Besides, loads of performers come here. They'll hear about it and make it into a song title."

"Not likely."

"Not impossible."

"Why do you convince yourself of these delusions?"

"What d'you mean 'why?' I'll tell you 'why!' Because…Just because."

"Inspiring explanation," I remark dryly.

He sends me a mock glare. "Wanker."

"Only since you came around," I say sweetly, batting my eyelashes.

His bark-like mirth is politely interrupted by a pimply waiter. "Excuse me? What can I get for you?"

Sirius doesn't open the inscribed leather menu. He simply hands it to the adolescent and orders, "A cheeseburger."

The youth looks so appalled an onlooker might presume that Sirius threatened to drown his first-born child. "But we have-"

"Fancy stuff," finishes my boyfriend indifferently. "I don't want that. I want a cheeseburger."

Shaking his head in disbelief, the server turns to me and queries with something akin to apprehension, "And for you?"

I glance at the meals listed and repress the urge to wring my hands nervously, for I cannot afford any of it. I do not believe either of my parents has ever gone to restaurant this decadent.

"Get whatever you want." Sirius' happy-go-lucky voice invades my stressed thoughts. "You didn't seriously think I'd bring you to such an expensive place and expect you to pay for anything, did you?"

I smile at him appreciatively and inform the waiter, "I'd like the fried coconut shrimp, please."

He sighs with relief when he takes my menu. He strolls off and tells Sirius over his shoulder, "I'd keep the mademoiselle if I were you. She has good tastes; something you desperately need."

Briefly, I wonder why he referred to me as 'mademoiselle;' then I recall what I am wearing. I sigh and look at Sirius again. "Why'd you bring us to a spot like this if you don't want to be here?"

Sirius refuses to meet my gaze, which happens only on the most rare of infrequent occasions. "Well…erm…you like it, don't you?"

On the stage a veela has commenced playing a harp with a precision that speaks of a dozen years worth of practise. Being a homosexual boy, her beauty does nothing to stimulate me, however, the classical music hums across my skin in a relaxing, almost human, caress. "I love it, Padfoot, but don't tell me we came strictly for me?" Even though this venture was not my idea, I would feel selfish for permitting it to continue if no one would enjoy it aside from myself.

"Pretty much. I like doing things that're only for you once in a while." Looking into my eyes again, Sirius reaches across the table and rubs my scarred knuckles with his calloused thumb. "I may not want the food, but – if it makes you feel any better - I've been dying to try out The Spellcastor's famous dance floor."

"What's so special about it?" I ogle the peculiar surface more closely. It ripples as swiftly as a river, yet if I blink it gleams like an undisturbed lake. "Somehow, it reminds me of water."

"It _is_ like water," he affirms my speculation and gives my hand a proud squeeze, "in the sense that sound travels over water easier than it does anything else."

I mull over his words thoughtfully. "…I don't think I understand."

Sirius brings my hand to his lips and allows his warm breath to ghost over my fingers. "You will." His low tone promises actions more personal than dancing and I shiver partly from attraction and partly from worry. The consequences of us making love would be disastrous.

"Can't we have a dinner conversation about art or history?" I vocalise as a half-hearted attempt to distract myself from Sirius' tempting implication.

He smiles indulgently. "No, 'cause we'd be boring."

"Those topics aren't bor-"

"Dinner is served." The spotty attendant places our steaming dishes in front of us.

"Thank you," I reply in the most feminine utterance I can manage. I note with amusement that the chef made Sirius' simple meal as sophisticated as possible. Barley leaves decourate the rim of the china plate and the burger is cut into four diamond shapes. After Sirius cautiously takes a bite of his and makes a noise of approval I begin to eat mine eagerly.

**Minerva's Note: **I promise the reason for Remus' reluctance to consummate the relationship will be explained by the end of the fic, and in the next chapter you'll get to see exactly how that magical dance floor works! Speaking of the forthcoming chap, I wrote a few versions it. Take a vote on which one you want to read:

A – A random boy hits on Remus B – Snape sees Remus, recognising him in the girl clothes 

C – Remus is hit on by a random boy _and_ recognised by Snape

D – Snape hits on Remus, _not_ recognising him in girl clothes


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four 

Once we finish consuming our delectable meal the waiter returns to collect the plates. "Would it please you to order desserts?"

"I've already got something planned for dessert." Sirius' eyes study my face intently as he answers him. "And when I get it, I know it'll please me very much." Heat floods the back of my neck. Again. How many times must one individual blush in the same day?

Pursing his lips with distaste, the server says, "Right. I'll bring your check."

Once he's out of earshot, Sirius mutters contemptuously, "What a tight-ass…Not in the good way, like you." Damn, my skin is hot enough without him making those comments!

"Well, your lewdness rattled his upstanding morals. I can only imagine the heightened degree of his discomfort if such impure intentions were directed at him," I point out fairly.

"You're being professor-like again," purrs Sirius in an un-dog-like fashion, convincing me that he must wish me to die from my face burning up. Truly, I shall develop a fatal fever in a matter of seconds if he does not cease his flirtation.

"Here," the waiter announces crisply, placing a piece of parchment emboldened with a large sum on the golden tablecloth. He is clearly passed enduring Sirius' disinterest in finery. Maybe he would be more compassionate if he knew how Sirius' dreadful relatives continuously try forcing their version of refinement upon him.

"Here," Sirius impersonates the pimply attendant. He pulls a handful of gleaming Galleons from his pocket and drops it into the youth's cupped palms. "Keep the change. Buy yourself some acne soap."

He sputters indignantly, ready to exclaim in anger. Then, he changes his mind and looks at me instead. "You could do better than him." He stalks off with his nose high in the air, a pose that he likely considers dignified.

I glance at Sirius, who smirks and says, "Thinking of leaving me for Pizzaface?"

"No." When Sirius continues to appear smug I add, "He didn't offer." I stifle a snigger at his trying-to-act-affronted face before sobering quickly. "Being rude to him wasn't necessary."

"He started it!" he childishly insists. "I finished it."

"You shouldn't have debased yourself-"

Sensing a lecture, Sirius, I predict, is preparing to alter the subject. He might fancy my vocabulary, however he –understandably – resents having his actions criticised. "Dance with me, my fair lady?" He stands up and extends his hand.

Who could resist a gallant offer like that? Not his overly romantic, devoted boyfriend. "I'd be honoured, my dear prince." I get up from the sculpted seat and curtsy ere taking his hand, causing him to laugh. He escorts me onto the oddly shimmering dance floor.

A flute is playing now. I cannot see it, yet it can be heard and somehow felt. It is akin to how the harp's song touched my skin only much more intense. It's a lively tune, and the speed of both the heart pumping in my ribcage and the blood flowing in my veins modify themselves to match it. My body throbs with the urge to spring into motion. I'm wont to self-consciousness, and find dancing with my moderate skill in view of spectators difficult. The impulse is so strong that it eliminates this doubt as well as all thought. Not realising what I am doing, I begin to move.

My feet lift, twist, and reconnect with the floor, resulting in clacking sounds. When I whirl away from Sirius and spin back to him I can feel my hair and skirt raising slightly and whirling too. Ordinarily, I'd be embarrassed about nearly exposing myself, yet I cannot manage to feel aught except the sound. My partner's steps are timed with mine perfectly. We both slide sideways and turn so that we're standing back to back. Our knees go downward until we touch the floor. We leap to our feet again in unison, backs still together, and do various movements with our arms. A crowd might have gathered to watch us; the only thing I'm certain of is that nothing aside from the music matters.

A sultry bass is emitted as a guitar and organ join the flute. The rhythm presses against my form like a physical force, and to not heed to its commands would be impossible. My hips and wrists revolve in circles, and fingers snap to the beat. Sirius' hands don't snap; he rotates on the floor behind me so that they rest on my waist. His head rocks from side to side and his knee moves up and down between my thighs, soft trouser fabric against my bare leg. My moving hips are causing my arse to bump into his crotch.

The catcalls confirm that if people weren't observing before they are now.

I extend my arms and reach back to touch his luxurious hair and faintly sweating neck. One of his hands leaves the midsection to hover along my torso without making actual contact. Leaving my right set of fingers in his hair, I bring the left forward to press Sirius' hand against my chest and slide it up to my face so I can kiss the palm before guiding it down again to rest over my heart. Sirius continues the southern journey until the hand returns to the hip that it started from.

He swirls me around to face him, and the digits on my waist shift to grab my arse. The pounding of a drum instructs me to buck toward him, hence I do and the knee riding the centre of my legs reaches higher than it previously had. Jolts of need shoot to the area beneath my stomach and the hand in my boyfriend's hair instinctively pulls him down for a demanding kiss. My tongue slips between his lips the same time that my thigh goes between his. My body has grown so hot that the sweat on my back feels cold.

The song has diluted my senses to such a vast degree that I am unable to comprehend the words Sirius murmurs against my jaw. "I'll take my dessert 'to go.'" Noting my confusion, Sirius holds me as immobile as possible and stares at my eyes. "We're leaving. After I take you to our next destination if you want to continue our dance in a more horizontal position I'll only encourage you, but we're leaving before anyone wonders why a girl's skirt is lifting when nothing besides what's inside her knickers could be doing it." His voice is breathier than normal, but firm and protective.

It takes my hazy mind nearly an entire minute to process his statement. By the time he leads me off of the dance floor I conceive the danger I permitted myself to step into. "Padfoot, I've got to find the W.C."

Sirius rubs circles on the small of my back and says soothingly. "I know you've got a _hard _problem to deal with, but don't worry; I'll help you." Maybe it would be better to let him…No!

"I've really got to go. It'll only take a second." I walk away from him and through the maze of elegant tables at a pace quick enough to be considered a run. Eventually, I encounter signs proclaiming the location of the toilets. Out of habit, I enter the one designated for males.

The room, which is as lavishly decorated as the rest of the place, is empty. My immense relief at this fact unwittingly results in me forgetting to lock the door. I retrieve a paper towel and soak it with the sink's cold water. Wincing at the discomfort I know it shall cause, I bring the dripping cloth under my skirt and underwear and wrap it around the heated organ. The icy temperature shocks so much that it almost hurts, however, it succeeds in softening and shrinking my member. How could this happen? How could I do something as foolish as _grind_? How could I relish Sirius fondling my rear in public? Does he truly have such a massive quantity of control over me?

Yes. He can play me like an instrument. I'm something that dwells serenely in a corner, disturbing no one with no one disturbing me. If anybody is curious enough to attempt to decipher how I work and come up to touch me, all they generate is an awkward sound before I am silent again and they depart in either disappointment or frustration. He vigourously plucks me from my tranquility and can produce any melody he prefers without me being able to resist. The music I emit entertains him, however, I cannot harmonise with other instruments, and he relishes large bands. He will deduce that he ought not bother with a solitary instrument that he is overly familiar with when he could conduct an entire orchestra of exciting new devices.

With a forlorn sigh, I deposit the rag into a rubbish bin and take the wand out of my sleeve to magically dry my damp clothing. No sooner do I put my wand away that the door opens. Who I see is the last person that I wish to encounter aroused and dressed as a female.

"Are you aware that this is the men's room?" Severus Snape's question is neutral. Why does this elate me? Because if it is not hostile that means that he doesn't recognise me! I cannot expect this good fortune to last for long given how unnervingly observant he is, hence I hasten towards the exit.

Merlin is against me yet again; the heel of my right boot snaps and I fall flat on my face. I groan in pain, but it turns into a startled gasp when I feel myself being lifted off of the tiled floor so polished that I can see my reflection. The levitating magic releases me when my body is in a sitting position on the sink. Snape's wand, which must have carried me, remains out and I anxiously try to determine if I should get mine in case he _has_ realised who I am. I needn't have worried, for he lazily flicks it to cause the shoe to repair itself.

"There's no reason to run away in embarrassment," Snape mildly states, stowing his wand. "After all, anyone could misread the signs on lavatory doors."

At first I assume he is mocking me, though, once I can be certain that there isn't a trace of maliciousness on his sallow-skinned face, it dawns on me that he's making a joke. Severus Snape, the boy that my friends insist was born with no sense of humour, is joking with me! I laugh at the absurdity of the situation rather than his jest. He comes toward me and the laughter dies, for even someone as fair-minded as I am is wary of having somebody that openly despises him get too close.

Snape crouches beside my recently broken boot and unzips it. Carefully, his calculating black eyes and surprisingly soft fingertips examine my ankle. "Good, you were lucky. It's not even sprained." There's no lingering in his touch and the tone is utterly business-like. In spite of that, there's something inappropriate about him touching me without permission.

"Thanks for your help. I should get back to my date before he worries." _Nicely done_, I congratulate myself. I kept my voice feminine and polite while letting him know that I'm unavailable.

He has never been known to say 'you're welcome,' and he does not declare it now. Although, he does nod respectfully as he re-zips my footwear and stands. "You ought to enjoy the rest of your evening; the food here is delicious."

"It is," I agree, hopping down from the sink. "I wish I could send the Head Chef my compliments."

"I'll tell her. She's my friend's aunt. He insisted that I come with him to see her today." He sounds neither enthused nor annoyed about this and I wonder if he wants to be here or not.

I head in the direction of the door, yet cannot control the impulse of inquiring, "Did you not want to meet her?"

Snape shrugs indifferently. "I'm not a 'people person.'"

"You don't say?" I manage to restrain my chuckle with vast effort. "Have a good night." My hand grasps the door handle.

"You too." He turns away from me, presumably to prepare to take care of the reason he entered the room in the first place. I'm relieved at escaping this situation unidentified, though an aspect of me regrets having to leave. Snape considered me a stranger and assisted me without being asked to; he's obviously not a malignant person. It occurs to me, with a pang of sadness, that if the circumstances of life were different we might have been friends. "Remember not to dance with your date unless you trust him."

I should walk away. I should ignore my curiosity, which only gets me into trouble. I should end the conversation here. "Why?" I am powerless to resist; I MUST know what he meant, like when I find a secret passage I MUST know where it goes. It is one of my greatest weaknesses as a well-behaved citizen, and one of my greatest assets as a Marauder.

"Don't you know?" Snape was about to unbutton his trousers, yet instead he turns around to view me in mild stupefaction.

"Apparently not." The back of my neck prickles, warning me that I will not like what I am about to hear.

"The Spellcastor dance floor is a powerful aphrodisiac. You know that sound is caused by vibrations? Well, the floor is enchanted to absorb the music's vibrations and send them into the bodies of the dancers, so you not only feel your partner, but the music. It often makes people's bodies move in ways that they normally wouldn't, like helping the clumsiest dolts dance sensually, or cause couples to have sex that didn't intend to." Snape grimaces with distaste. "Some less respectable members of the Ministry think that after midnight the restaurant should be turned into an expensive club for orgies. There's never been one before because no one knew charms that could do that, but the owner of The Spellcastor invented it himself…Are you all right?"

No, I'm not. Suddenly, I feel cold and empty. "Fine."

Snape isn't fooled. Is he ever? "Your boyfriend didn't tell you about it." It's a statement, not a question. "I guarantee he knew."

"Yeah," I say, scarcely listening anymore. Does Sirius know? If he does, why didn't he tell me? The answers come to me in seconds. _"I've been dying to try out The Spellcastor's famous dance floor. It __is__ like water in the sense that sound travels over water easier than it does anything else."_

"…_I don't think I understand."_

"_You will." His low tone promises actions more personal than dancing. _He had known, and he hadn't told me in order to take advantage of me. He didn't want to hurt me, he never does, yet the fact remained that he'd been deliberately deceitful. "Damn you, Sirius."

"Black?" Snape's suspicious voice brings me back to the present with the sensation of a weight being dropped in my stomach. "I always knew he was an unappreciative blood traitor, but this is low for even him. I thought he was at least loyal to the abominations he spent so much time with, but now he's cheating on Lup…" He trails off and his opaque orbs widen as they study me. "Oh my god, you're more of a freak than I thought!"

He recognised me, though I expected that from the beginning. The words prior to his realisation are what unnerve me. "W-when did you find out about us?"

"Ages ago," muttered Snape disgustedly. I mourn a bit as he regards me with his usual contempt in contrast of the near-friendliness of before. "You're so sickeningly obvious it shows how stupid our classmates are to not notice it."

"But you haven't told everyone?" I'm confused as to why he didn't, for he would revel in tarnishing Sirius' reputation by spreading the news throughout the school, wouldn't he?

"I only needed to tell one person." He gives an unpleasant smirk. "He'll break the news to Black's parents when the two of them go home for the summer." Regulus; he couldn't be indicating anyone other than Sirius' younger brother. "This new secret of yours, however, doesn't need to be treated as carefully."

I almost flush with shame and flee from the lavatory. Fortunately, my Marauder instincts activate, and, instead, I lift the hem of my skirt and smile flirtatiously. "You know you like it, Severus baby. You made that _very_ clear with your soft, soft hands."

He staggers backwards into the wall as if I'm threatening him, which, in a way, I am. We directly meet each other's gaze and come to the understanding that if he reveals to anyone how I'm dressed tonight I shall retaliate with the fact that he indirectly hit on me while I wore it. It's implied that I'll exaggerate, making it much less indirect in the retelling.

"Get away from me, werewolf." It is undeterminable if he is more revolted by himself or me.

I ought to be more mature, but the Marauder element in me I try to keep sleeping is wide-awake now, thus I blow him an obnoxious kiss before sauntering out. Ironically, I enjoy the whistles and offers to dance I receive until I find Sirius. Upon seeing him, the mischievousness goes back into reserve as anger and concern war to be the dominant emotion.

"There you are!" He pulls me close to him to enable him to tease quietly, "You really are like a girl, taking so long in the loo." Without responding, I take his arm and lead him out of the restaurant. "What's going on?"

"We need to talk."

**Minerva's Note:** Okay, I know it's been months, but I actually have an excuse. This pervert was watching me change in a costume shop and he kept touching my arse. I had to talk to a bunch of court people so he would get punished. Anyone who has dealt with legal shit knows how long that can take. After it was over I still needed some recovery time ere I could bear to read over my romance fics because the thought of physical contact made me nauseous. Thankfully, now I find the thought of the puppies being together as cute and smexy as I did before. I hope that you understand the reason for the delay and will leave a review.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"We need to talk?" Sirius repeats, allowing me to propel him down the well-lit street. "Moony, don't you know those are the worst words to say in any relationship?"

Remaining silent, I stop moving when I locate a bench attached to the sidewalk and perch myself upon it. Once Sirius sits beside me I release his hand and clasp both of my own in my lap. Should I begin with why I am vexed or why I am worried? The anxiety is more significant, thus it's probably wiser to get the irritation out of the way first. "You didn't tell me about the dance floor's enchantment." I said it conversationally, knowing that Sirius will perceive I wouldn't have brought it up at all unless it bothered me.

"I told you it was like water," he casually insists as if I have no right to be annoyed with him.

"Yes, but you didn't tell me it was an aphrodisiac." I succeed in keeping my voice controlled, however, I've no doubt that Sirius will notice how tightly my hands are gripped.

"No, I didn't, but couples always try to turn each other on, and it wouldn't work if they said, 'Watch out, I'm planning on making you randy!'" I open my mouth to argue, but he continues defensively, "You do it, too. When you kiss me good night in the dormitory for much longer than you need to 'cause you want me to dream about you that night." I blush, conceiving that I can't deny it. "And I took you off of the floor before we did anything on it. There would've been plenty of time for the effects to wear off before we got where I'm bringing you."

I sigh, "You're right. It's not like you drugged me with a potion or anything. Sorry I took it too personally." Sirius is hot-tempered and can have violent discussions for hours. It tends to surprise him how quickly the fight goes out of me. The truth is that I do not enjoy disputing, especially not with people that I love. The risk of ruining the relationship is never worth the minor thing that the disagreement is about.

"Um…that's settled, then," replies Sirius lamely, not deducing what else to say. He watches me searchingly. "There's more, isn't there?" I nod and try to speak, yet the words do not want to come. He strong arm moves around my shoulders and I unconsciously lean into the warmth of his body. "Tell me."

I don't want to provide Sirius with another reason to abhor Snape, ergo I omit the interaction I had with him and simply inform, "I think Regulus knows about us."

"Oh? I didn't think he was that observant." I feel Sirius shrug. "So?"

"What do you mean 'so?'" I twist my head to gawk at him incredulously. "Suppose he tells your parents? You'll be disowned for sure!" Muggles look down upon homosexuals, though in the wizarding world, where people are expected to carry on the pureblood lines, it is almost a criminal offence. Similar to how being a werewolf is; you won't be locked up, but it's nearly impossible to find work and friends, and there are always groups wishing to have you exterminated.

He laughs carelessly. "Where's the problem in that? I'm not gonna miss anything besides asking guests, 'Hey, wanna look at dead elves' heads?' I'd give my life for you, Remus, and you think that I'd mind giving up talking to my evil sodding family for you?" What person could hear that and not melt inside? Seeing my dazed expression, he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing," I honestly answer. The proclamations that he utters that mean the most to me are the ones that he makes sincerely and unintentionally. My hands unclasp and hug him tightly and unexpectedly. "Have I told you how completely amazing I think you are?"

"Not today," he responds in a farce of sorrow, returning the gesture.

"Would you like me to?" I know I'm looking at him in unconcealed adoration, and I cannot bring myself to feel abashed.

"I wouldn't complain," grins Sirius, "but I'd rather have you show me." He indicates that we ought to stand. "There's one more place I'm taking you tonight."

His arm around my shoulders and mine around his waist, we make our way to the end of the boulevard and then to the adjacent road. Sirius is humming a cheerful tune while I scan the other couples walking by, and can't resist believing that Sirius and I are the most well-matched.

This feeling only increases when I notice many of the supposedly committed girls ogling Sirius wistfully and - more disconcertingly - a fair number of men regard me as if I'm something to eat. Finally, I understand why James was uncomfortable with me being seen dressed this way. I must look better as a female than I earlier gave myself credit for. This makes me smirk to myself because James often good-naturedly taunts me for worrying too much, though he is equally as worrisome when it pertains to the well-being of his friends. I love him for that; he's an excellent friend.

Sirius halts me in mid-thought and mid-step once our walk brings us to a massive rectangular building. The edifice is constructed of granite blocks that sparkle in the light of the magical floating lanterns that illuminate the town after nightfall. "This is the place!"

"Where are we?" I crane my neck to peruse the sign at the top of the structure. In loopy letters it proudly proclaims the name of the establishment. "Kneazle Keep," I read aloud nervously. It's the most praised line of wizarding hotels in all of Western Europe.

"High in price, yeah, but don't worry. Unlike dinner, I won't actually have to pay for this," explains Sirius, misinterpreting the reason for my apprehension. "I've got connections here."

The true cause of my anxiety is not how much it costs, but what it is. A hotel. And why would he bring me to a hotel? A place where we could have a bedroom to ourselves for the entire evening? It isn't difficult to speculate. I feud with the compulsion to hyperventilate in order to ask shrewdly, "Connections named Prongs?"

Simpering, Sirius affirms. "Mr. and Mrs. Potter went to school with the owners." Having his arm encircling me, it is an easy feat for him to maneuver me inside.

I attempt to lighten my fretful mood by teasing, "I knew we'd never stay anywhere named after a _cat_ if you had to pay for -" My own gasp of pleased surprise ends my unfinished sentence when we infiltrate the lobby. Momentarily, I permit myself to forget why we are there so I can enjoy the view. Pale slate walls are adorned with paintings of the most exotic kneazles I have ever seen. The floor is a shining white marble that reflects an immense ruby chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling. "Magnificent."

"Indeed you are," Sirius whispers, letting his lips brush against my ear. I sense his smugness when his action causes me to shudder with lust for him. What were the gods thinking when they put so much sex appeal into one being? Probably the amount of fun they could have tormenting Remus Lupin with him.

Fighting against the blush the threatens to materialise for what feels like the hundredth time that night, I quip, "Thanks, but couldn't you have thought of a more original way to compliment me?"

Sirius gapes, pretending to be wounded beyond words. "That hurts me, Remy, it hurts me deeply. Couldn't you just feel flattered?"

I turn my head to give him a chaste peck on the lips and be certain to pull away swiftly ere he can deepen it. "I'm not such a fool."

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively as he retorts while we approach the check-in desk. "Well, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you."

"Yes," I return, smiling, "but you're a fool under most circumstances." This banter is the perfect distraction from my nerves about what's to come.

Sirius sighs dramatically like he bears a heavy burden. "It's a gift."

"Then take it back and demand a refund." My stomach does a delighted somersault when my comment brings him laughter.

"Name please?" inquires the woman behind the tall, resplendent desk. She's wearing an Italian dragonhide business jacket and has the accent of the upper-most class of British citizens.

Expecting another absurd response akin to 'Baby Got Back,' I am bewildered by his incomprehensible mumble of, "Snfls."

"Pardon?" She cups a hand around her ear. Both the hand and the ear sport diamond teardrop-shaped jewels that I doubt are fake.

More clearly, though no more loudly, he mutters, "Snuffles."

I cough to conceal my humoured snort, but she's a professional and doesn't bat an eyelash. The woman merely scans the row of gleaming golden keys behind her and, after retrieving one, faces us again. "Master Suite 17, right?"

Looking at the marble floor in evident embarrassment, Sirius vocalises ineloquently, "Uh-huh."

"Here you are." She holds out the key, which he takes without meeting her scrutiny. "Take the lift to the third floor. The switch beside the suite's door will alert a house elf if you need anything. Enjoy your stay."

Sirius is already gaiting towards the elevators, hence I courteously tell her, "Thank you." I catch up with him and notice that his mortification has abated enough for him to raise his head and push the button to summon the machine with his typical grace. In less than a minute one arrives and we enter its wooden depths. The sides of the craft boast gilded carvings and I reach the conclusion that this solitary lift costs more than everything I own combined.

"I know you want to ask," the animagus remarks, pressing the indicator for our floor. He's beaming at me, all traces of his previous discomfort gone. It's a welcome relief, however, it also forces me to be more aware of my own uneasiness returning. Banter diverted my attention prior to this instance; maybe it can a second time.

Innocently, I question, "Ask what?"

"Snuffles." He rolls his eyes at my coyness. "Mr. Potter told me I could have one of the best rooms if I let him pick what name it was under. Now we know where Prongs gets being a snarky bastard from." We share a smile since we both realise that he doesn't mean it, in James' or his father's case. "It's a small price to pay for the fun I'm going to have with you."

So much for banishing my distress. My attractive boyfriend appears as if he is giddily anticipating something, like a child on Christmas Eve, and I have no idea what I'm going to do.

_Ding._ The lift stops and the doors glide open with ease. Sirius practically skips out of it and down the revealed hallway that has intricately embroidered carpeting. Emerging reluctantly, I hear the doors reseal themselves behind me; I walk no further. After a few more gleeful steps, Sirius notes that I am not following. He half-turns to face me and, with a lick of his lips that assures mischief of the most intimate level, beckons me forward with his index finger.

I have no option except to trudge up to him. When I am directly beside him he drapes an arm around my waist and forces me to meet him stride for stride, occasionally permitting his fingers to wander enough to squeeze my arse through the clothing he insisted I wear. I speculate that he does this because the appalled, undignified squeak I emit amuses him, not because it stimulates him in any way.

We pause at a mahogany door with 'Master's Suite: 17' embellished upon it in curvy glittering letters. Sirius inserts the key into the polished lock. The postern opens silently on well-oiled hinges. Both of us cannot enter through the doorway abreast, therefore Sirius lightly nudges me in first. The suite is larger than the common room. On the right is a space akin to a sitting room with a leather settee and a brick fireplace, and on the left are mahogany wardrobes and a king-sized canopy bed. Through the transparent silk curtains surrounding the bed, I discern that it is covered in flower petals. A door adjacent to the bed shows a glittery bathroom beyond, complete with crystal water faucets. The place is so remarkably romantic that it is almost cliché. At least Sirius is considerate enough to bring me somewhere classy to take my virginity.

There's the sound of a lock clicking, informing me that I won't be able to escape via the hallway door. Sirius saunters in front of me to let his gaze travel up and down my figure as if I am not wearing anything.

Bugger. I'm in deep trouble.

****

Minerva's Note:

Thanks for being so understanding about my delayed update last time. Your reviews honestly made my eyes tear up! I'm afraid I don't have a legitimate excuse this time, but hopefully people still remember this fic, especially the people that have it on their alert list. I promise to respond to all of your reviews for this chapter and update within two weeks. By the way, a kneazle is an intelligent, independent cat-like creature that can detect suspicious characters. Hermione's cat Crookshanks is part kneazle. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

My anxious gulp is audible and causes him to chuckle, not one of a boy's insolent amusement, but the satisfaction of a man that has something he wants. I wait for him to speak, however, he merely continues to watch me with smoldering eyes that make my heartbeat accelerate.

"Why are we here?" I already know, yet one of us has to say something.

"My pretty bookworm, your smartness is one of the things I like best about you, so you overlooking the obvious disappoints me." He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. "If you take a minute to think about it, I'm sure that you'll be able to figure it out."

My eyes widen and no response I can make comes to mind, but this does not concern Sirius, who is attempting to thread his fingers through my hair. Upon being hindered by the barrettes pinning back my fringe, he carefully unclips both of them and drops them onto a nearby table. He slides his fingers unrestricted through my hair, smiling in satisfaction. His visage moves closer and he inhales deeply to take in my scent.

Unwittingly, I find myself copying him. His enticing aroma causes the muscles in my throat and my pelvis to tighten. It is one of luxuriant pine shampoo, the sugary drink he consumed with his determinedly non-fancy dinner, and a thrilling sense of danger. I've never known anyone other than Sirius to literally smell like adventure, and I cannot explain the sensation with something as mundane as words.

He tilts his head and I feel his breath ghost across the side of my face. A wet tongue rims the shell of my ear. Teeth lightly pull my earlobe into a warm mouth and my stomach flutters with excitement. The hands are gone from my hair; one is traveling up and down my neck with feather-like gentleness and the other is _very_ low on my back pushing me against the eager form before me with vice-like possessiveness.

Everything feels wonderful, and I know how hazardous this fact is. "What are you doing?" My voice is choked with the concupiscence I'm attempting to fend off.

"Seducing you." The explanation is extremely Sirius-y in its honest simplicity, though being uttered so close to my ear it effects me in a manner that is anything but simple. My knees tremble and only Sirius' powerful embrace averts me from falling. He's smirking against my skin at how I'm reacting to him. "Know the other reason why I wanted you to wear that skirt?"

I shake my head, convinced that my mouth has gone too dry for me to be able to make a noise of any sort. Predictably, I am wrong. Sirius' hand drifts along my inner thigh and I gasp loudly. We've had snogging sessions more fierce than this, however, because I doubt he'll be content with mere kisses today, I back away out of frightful instinct. He advances, thus we wind up with my back against the wall. Sirius shows no sign of moving to free my trapped body, nor does aught signify that he plans to remove his hand from the inside of the skirt.

"The other reason," Sirius whispers into the air above my lips, "is easy access." To emphasise this point he slides the digits further up my thigh. When my jaw opens to gasp this time no sound escapes, yet Sirius does not appear to care, for he leans closer, widening the entrance of his own mouth. I try to forget where this is leading in order to enjoy the moment. The tips of tongues caress in greeting before lips even touch. When lips do meld, shivers of delight jolt down my spine. We want to visit ever crevice of each other's mouths, resulting in our teeth colliding more frequently as the kiss grows hungry and heated. By the time I whimper because of the burning in my lungs from lack of oxygen Sirius is ready to stop his exploration of my mouth only to alter his focus to my neck. I am choking with the raw need for air as he sucks the sensitive skin harshly enough to bruise.

"Oh, God," I moan, unconsciously tilting my head back to grant him more access.

Sirius nips playfully at my collarbone. "God has nothing to do with it." He bucks his hips against mine, making the blood pumping through my body boiling hot. "It's all me, the Lord of Laughter, the Master of Mischief, the Baron of Blowjobs, the -"

"The Duke of Daring, the Saint of Sex, the Whatever of Whatever," I interrupt breathlessly. "I don't care what titles you give yourself. Just kiss me, _please_."

"Oh, silly Moony, you never have to beg me." With a smile that could have ended the Ice Age, he gently slides us down the wall until I am lying flat against the floor with him straddling my waist. He nibbles my lower lip before bussing me again in that way that only he can manage, that way that is so divinely giving and devilishly demanding. One hand traces soothing patterns along the edge of my scalp and the other hand drifts beneath the hem of the shirt I am wearing to draw identical ones on my stomach.

My back arches off of the floor toward him, my body naturally craving his touch. "More."

Grinning, Sirius slides off of my waist in favour of kneeling between my legs. He wraps his hands around the left thigh and slowly guides his fingers down my leg until he reaches the boot. With deliberate care he unzips it and removes it from my foot. After tossing it aside he doesn't simply work on the other shoe that is next to him. Sirius kisses his way back up the calf and higher, trailing his tongue along my scars. There aren't as many deforming marks on my lower body as there are on my torso, but there are enough to make me self-conscious. This nervousness causes my sensibility to break through my prurience, and I am grateful that Sirius stops his ministrations without going up the skirt. Instead, he moves to my right leg and repeats the languid process of going down to undo the footwear. Before his lips can move upwards again I sit up and draw my legs to my chest, hugging my knees.

"Padfoot, I…" Unsure of exactly what I need to say, I trail off inadequately and shake my head.

He gaits toward me on his kneecaps until he's near enough to put his arms around my thin frame. The embrace isn't as firm as usual; Sirius feels uncomfortable. "You asked for 'more,' so I thought you wanted -"

Did I inadvertently act like a tease? I'm so inconsiderate! In my haste to reassure him that I was the dolt in this situation, not him, I interrupt, "I did. I mean, I do. I want you to. That is, I want me to. Well, you know, I want both of us to." I close my mouth to prevent more mortifying babble from spewing out.

The hug is more certain now that he knows I am not upset with him. "We can do whatever you want."

"But I can't do what I want. I just can't." Rather than whiny, my tone is sorrowfully resigned.

Sirius comfortingly explores the contours of my face with his lips, more soft grazes of contact than literal kisses. The kind gesture is decidedly at odds with his wicked whisper. "Then, we'll do what _I _want." Without further ado, he leans back and gracefully pulls his silk shirt over his head.

Sculptures of Greek gods aren't half as lovely as Sirius, though I've seen him change his clothes in the dormitory, and am capable of restraint against succumbing to the alluring idea of staring at him. Another way I resist is by making myself more awkward by reminding my lovesick brain that Sirius has never seen me exposed, for I change in the bathroom and instruct my friends to depart on full moons during the actual transformation.

"Sirius," I begin cautiously.

He cheerily cuts me off. "This won't be outside your comfort zone. Go sit in front of the fire." He stands and heads to the lavatory, not bothering to watch if I will obey. He must realise that I'm too curious at this point to refuse. Whether or not I become disinclined remains to be seen. When he returns to view me waiting upon the settee he's carrying a bottle. "Roll up your sleeves."

I regard the bell sleeves. "Easier said than done." Nonetheless, I do as directed. The bottle soars across the suite to me and I fumble to catch it. Inspecting the contents, I deduce that it is some type of body lotion or oil.

"Your nimble servant's fingers are going to work." After pushing the long wooden coffee table against the small couch I'm seated at, he lays across the table on his stomach. "You're going to give me a massage."

That certainly isn't an instruction I anticipate. It is not unreasonable, though I wish he hadn't said it. "I've never given or gotten one before. I'm, uh, not sure I know how to do it right." This is another factor I'm sure will result in me being a poor lover. The concept is facile; use your fingers to ease the tension in someone else's muscles. In execution, it's rumoured to be difficult, requiring months of practising various techniques.

"Doesn't matter. I just want you to touch me." When his comment produces a minor coughing fit he turns his head toward me in mock consternation. "All right there, Rem?"

I focus more intently than necessary on unscrewing the top of the container and manage to reply, "F-fine." My eyes don't rise from the cap until I hear him lie flat again, facing the wall instead of me. When I angle the bottle sideways a galleon-sized glob slides out of it onto my palm. I'm vaguely surprised that it possesses a texture more akin to gel than rubbing oil. I raise the peculiar lotion to my nose and am happy that the olfaction resembles that of chamomile, my favourite tea. I rub my hands together to spread the sweet-smelling goop.

I begin the massage at the uppermost point; kneading his neck and shoulders the way the house-elves treat the pastry dough in the Hogwarts kitchens. The approving noises Sirius makes leave the impression that I'm doing something correctly, which is a relief. My hands proceed downwards, knuckles grinding the marvelously smooth skin on either side of his spine. Reaching the top of his trousers, I prepare to move up his spinal column to return to the top. Just as I'm blessedly beginning to feel as if I may be able to develop a moderate talent for this Sirius, of course, has to knock the wind out of me by nonchalantly stating, "Don't forget my arse."

My orbs cognize his buttocks in disbelief. Loathing pain myself, I never dream of inflicting it upon someone else. Although, even an individual as non-sadistic as I am is capable of recognising that the size and shape of my boyfriend's rear is ideal for spankings. I can't possibly touch it. My mind scurries in a desperate search for a pretext.

"I'll stain your trousers with this stuff on my hands." Why am I bothering? That's not going to deter him.

"I can use magic to clean 'em." Sometimes it's a nuisance being precise at my predictions.

"Right." My hands shake as I reach towards his hindquarters. It takes both an eternity and a nanosecond to arrive at them. The cheeks are firm and plump, and when I grip them his thighs spread in invitation. The perfect encasement for a specific piece of my anatomy…No, those thoughts are forbidden! Abruptly, I release him. "I'm sorry, I can't. It's too weird."

I'm not stupefied when his cranium spins around to frown, but it catches me unawares why he is displeased. "My arse isn't weird."

In all probability, he understands what I meant and is making light of it in hopes that I'll be pacified. I might as well play along. "How could you know? You never have to look at it."

"I didn't come here to be insulted," he growls, fighting not to display amusement.

I parody haughtiness by examining my fingernails. "Really? Where do you usually go?"

Sirius, master of absurd dramatics, achieves the spectacular accomplishment of swallowing his laughter to exclaim, "You were immune to my seduction. Now, you're insulting my fabulous body? Could it be that I've lost my mojo for irresistibility? Oh, the blasphemy! My mojo is meant to be worshipped as the most awesome thing in all of England."

"It's too bad for your mojo that we're in Scotland," I deadpan.

He raises a brow, challenging my theory. "Hogwarts is in Scotland, but we flew a long way…We could be in Wales for all you know."

I roll my eyes, not distrusting my knowledge of our location for an instant. "We're less than a score of miles from Hogsmeade. You wouldn't bring me to Wales."

"No, I wouldn't," he agrees, flipping over onto his back and resting his arms behind his head in a pose of relaxation, "but I might take you to dolphins."

How does he invent such outrageous comebacks? It's one of those unfathomable characteristics that make him so uniquely him, ergo I adore it. Naturally, because we're playfully bickering as per usual, I cannot say that. "Is another title of yours the Prince of Painful Puns?"

"Merlin will smite you for saying his most prized creation doesn't have a dazzling wit," the animagus warns superiourly.

Shrugging unrepentantly, I drawl, "As a Dark Creature, I'm going to Hell no matter what."

Sirius sits up, appearing simultaneously thunderous and caring. "You are not -"

"I was joking, Sirius." The half-lie comes easily in my haste to reassure him. I raise my hands as if their emptiness proves me free of blame.

He's unconvinced, fully aware of my opinion of my affliction, however, he repositions himself on the table anyway. "Well, continue with the massage, then."

My forehead crinkles in confusion. "Aren't you going to turn over?"

"You already worked your Moony-ish magic on my back. My front is what needs some lovin' now." The troublemaker smiles when my face turns as crimson as the Hogwarts Express. This is the final straw; I'm petitioning for research for the discovery of a potion that will forfend blushing.

Resolving not to fruitlessly argue with him this time, I silently reapply the odd lotion and lay my damp hands on him. His chest is an impossibly immaculate combination of silky flesh and stony muscle. Nipples are dark against his pureblood skin. I don't dare touch them to learn if they're as hard as they look. Since I can barely sustain the ability to breathe, it's conceivable that I'm unable to massage as expertly as before. I lightly pinch random patches of skin together with my middle and forefingers, and move the pads of my thumbs in small circles over the pinched spots.

Sirius unleashes a low groan from the base of his throat and I freeze, completely entranced by the utterance. During my stupor, drops of the gel drip from my fingers onto his breastbone and roll down the planes of his washboard abdomen, effectively catching my attention and distilling my stationary body. Disregarding that it would taste repulsive, I want to lick the shining trail of moisture left by the droplets so I can have an excuse to slide my tongue over the waves of his flawless stomach. A substance that has such a high temperate it must be lava coils beneath my waistline. This unbridled hotness is unsafe, and I jerk my hands and eyes away from the man bringing it into existence.

My head is downcast so my hair will act as a curtain around me and I won't see his expression. "Can I please stop?"

I feel the cushion beside me weigh down as he moves off of the wood. Calloused digits cup my face and lift it; Sirius brings himself into my sight looking concerned. "Do I ask too much?"

"No." What he does is make me desire him more than should be possible.

"Brilliant!" He kisses my unresisting lips, mood shifting to that of a hyper child, a tendency that I'm accustomed to. "Because I want to do it again sometime. It's fun to make you squirm."

"I didn't _squirm_," I insist, indignantly swatting his wrist.

The heartening emission of his bark-isk cachinnation squanders my mild anger. He stands, recaps the bottle, and delivers it to the bedside cabinet. With his presence and touch gone I feel cold despite the nearby fire. I don't dwell on this because I'm more interested in the new object Sirius produces from the cupboard: A camera. If I'm not mistaken, it's the same camera that Sirius' uncle sent him last Christmas.

"How did you get that in there without me noticing?" His Marauder skills could be improving, an impressive feat considering how impeccable they already are.

He doesn't feign innocence, and straightforwardly answers, "I came here last night to set everything up. I've also got breakfast chocolate in here for you."

"You do?" Have I mentioned how much I love Sirius?

"Yeah, but that has to wait till morning." He adjusts the photographing lens, though I am preoccupied envisioning sweets and scarcely observe it. "Get on the bed."

The unexpected order replaces my cocoa daydream with perplexity. "Why?"

"I'm going to take dirty pictures of you." Have I mentioned how much I hate Sirius?

**Minerva's Note: **I think I'm a day behind my deadline, but I hope you all enjoyed it! I changed the fic's title because it _was_ the last line of the story, but now I'm going to add more chapters than I originally planned. Isn't that great? :.) I decided to name it something that applied to the plot instead of a quote within the work. Weird concept! Anyway, my school term will be over May 15th, so don't expect an update until my final exams are done. Please review to let me know what you thought of this chapter. We know it wouldn't be a proper Wolfstar tale if I didn't bring chocolate into the story at some point!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"You're going to _what_?"Maybe I heard him incorrectly. Maybe werewolves actually have poor hearing as opposed to the rumoured super-sensitive sort.

Sirius flicks his wand to make a gap in the transparent curtains surrounding the bed, a gap wide enough for a person to lay between the ends. "Take dirty pictures of you." Maybe the world is a nefarious conspiracy designed by Remus-haters.

"But-" I commence what will likely be a useless argument; Sirius interrupts me ere I am able to finish.

He commandingly points to the lavishly clothed mattress and speaks in a sexily authoritative voice, "Moony, you must do what your master tells you." Yep, definitely Remus-haters.

Reluctantly, I emerge from the comfortable settee cushions and shuffle my feet towards the bed. As I gaze at the petal-covered duvet a rare, self-righteous vexation flares within me. I whirl around to face Sirius, feeling my eyes burn with anger, yet managing to keep my tone and stance as controlled as always. "No. It isn't fair for you to demand this. I don't ever let any of you see my scars." It's obvious to both of us that 'any of you' indicates the Marauders collectively. "So, what makes you think I'd let there be visual evidence of the ugly things?"

"Your scars are part of you, and you're a gorgeous person, so it's impossible for them to be ugly." He appears frustrated, as he often does when I insult myself. "Anyway, why are you worried when they're covered by what you're wearing?" My boyfriend is bemused for a moment before enlightenment comes to him. "Oh Merlin, Rem, I didn't mean you'd have to get _undressed _for these photos." He steps forward and his hand that isn't holding the camera clasped mine fervently. "I'd never…" He shakes his head, not saying more, however, it isn't obligatoy for him to do so since I perceive what he means.

"I should've known you wouldn't." I squeeze his hand that's intertwined with mine in love and reassurance. "But if I'm fully clothed what's supposed to make the pictures dirty?"

Sirius beams brightly, ivory teeth flashing in the firelight. "I'm glad you asked." He laughs when I groan in dismay, and removes his fingers from mine to extract a Sugar Quill from his pocket. "You'll be needing this." Cheekily, he extends the sweet toward me.

Under model circumstances, I scarf them down almost as frequently as chocolate, though naught about this situation is standard (I'm dressed as a woman, for one thing.) hence I stare mistrustfully at the white, slender cavity-inducer resting upon his palm. "Why will I need it?"

"You'll see." Sirius' hand moves closer, urging me to accept the quill. "Go on. The bed is waiting." The heat in his eyes is so strong that it almost literally sears my skin. "And I'm waiting, too."

Slowly, I grasp the candy and move over to the canopy. I perch myself on the edge and my 

fingers twitch in mild anxiety. Because I am permitted to keep my clothing on, I'm not too unnerved. Nonetheless, I wish I comprehended what to expect. "If you show these – whatever they turn out to be - to anyone, anyone at all, I swear I'll -"

"Relax," he cuts me off again and inserts film into the camera. "I've told you that you're for my eyes only. I'd hex anyone that had inappropriate thoughts about you. Everyone better keep their hands and eyes off you and find their own bookish, caring, chocolate-loving werewolf because _you_ belong to _me_."

How should I respond to that? Some people might be offended by another individual claiming to own them. Conversely, I feel flattered. Still, I'm not going come across as pathetic by thanking him for such a statement…Ah, I know! "Then, you have to belong to me, too."

Sirius grants me an expression that I am unable to read, which is very abnormal considering how much time I dedicate to watching him. "I always have." There seems to be a powerful meaning behind those three words, but before I can begin to decipher what it is he starts giving me instructions. "Lay on your side."

"Like this?" The front of my body is in his view while my back faces the pillows at the head of the bed. My right hip presses against the soft, springy mattress.

"Never mind." Sirius pouts, unsatisfied with his own suggestion, "I can't see your arse that way. Try lying on your stomach." It is an easy recommendation to comply with. Just as I foolishly begin to believe that this ordeal will not be overly embarrassing, he adds, "Good. Now, suck on the Sugar Quill while looking at the camera seductively."

I hesitantly raise the quill, however, before it tickles my lips I lower it and mumble, "I'm not sure I know how to look _seductive_, Padfoot."

Sirius rolls his eyes in disbelief. "Sure you do. Know how you get when you're really into one of those fiction books and you gasp and bite your lip, or how you look after a shower when your hair is damp and your pyjamas are sticking to you?"

"What are you talking about?" Sirius has been under delusions previously in his life, such as concluding that Slughorn's jiggly stomach was a result of the professor shoving jello up his shirt, though this conception is unquestionably his most ludicrous. "I'm not being tempting when I'm doing that. I'm just appreciating literature and being clean."

"Mmm, yes, very clean, and it only makes me want to dirty you up more." He winks seductively. See, _he's_ the seductive one, not me. "I'd rather you didn't deny your sexiness to yourself, but it's definitely senseless to deny it to someone who sees it firsthand everyday."

I certainly don't find any qualities about myself appealing, but whenever he declares my supposed attractiveness with such tactless honesty and stares me as if I'm something edible it makes me speculate that perhaps there's the faintest possibly that I _am_ the tiniest bit alluring. Maybe.

"Anyways, back to business." Sirius raises the camera to his face in order to gaze through the lens. "All you've gotta do is suck the quill like you're trying to make me think of you sucking my hard-on."

"Your _what_?" The photographer develops a devious expression and parts his chops to explain. Upon sighting this, I quickly intercede, "I know what it is; I'm not that naive. I just can't believe you said it like that." His blatancy is a true wonderment. I am extremely familiar with it, yet once in a while he utters something that catches me off guard. "Look, I'll…I'll try, all right? I can't guarantee that I'll be able to pull off whatever you're imagining, but I'll make an effort. Just don't be too disappointed if I can't."

Sirius smiles. It's a warm, soft smile as opposed to one of his cocky, mischievous, flirtatious or entertained ones. I cannot translate its precise meaning; I've noticed he doesn't ever direct it towards anyone aside from me. He also has a warm smile for James, though it lacks the same gentleness, and this difference is presumably 

significant. "You never disappoint me."

There's no reply I can make to that. If I declared that he never disappointed me it would be untruthful. While I do treasure him more than I dreamt I could cherish a person, I do not respect how he treats people that he believes are beneath him. I don't want to dwell on that at the moment, for I have more pressing tasks to attend to.

I recall the way in which Sirius looked when he provocatively suckled my finger earlier in the evening and use that for inspiration. The top half of the sweet slides easily into my oral cavity. I use the palm that isn't holding the quill to cradle my head and angle my face in my boyfriend's direction. I peer at him from under my eyelashes and turn up the corners of my mouth in the slightest of simpers. Knowing that the wizarding camera can capture movement, I slip the remainder of the quill into my mouth ere gliding it out again, and continue to repeat the languid process. Hopefully, this is what Sirius wants because if it isn't I perceive nothing else to attempt.

There's a blinding flash and I need to blink multiple times before I can see again. I pull the treat out from between my lips with a popping sound and inquire, "Good?"

"Perfect." Sirius' inveigling grey eyes shine with satisfaction. "If you ever want my attention then look at me that way and I'll definitely ignore whatever else is going on."

Really? I file away that information and plan to test the effectiveness of it at a later date. "Is that the only picture I have to do?" Please, tell me that it is.

"Just one more." Sirius saunters over and removes the partially consumed Sugar Quill from my loose grasp. Without an explanation, he strolls backwards a few steps and raises the photographing device. "Okay, kneel this time." I position myself on my knees with my feet behind me and smooth down my short skirt. "Lean back on one hand. I don't care which one. Spread your knees apart…" Not too atrocious so far. "…Put your other hand in your skirt and act like you're wanking."

I fall back against the hand I was precariously balanced with. It hurts my wrist, although my brain barely registers this irrelevant detail as I sputter, "Ex-excuse me?"



Sirius takes a small bite out of the snack he took from me. He sticks his tongue in my mouth on a regular basis, ergo being concerned about germs would be redundant. "You know; give yourself a hand-job, fist your Mini-Moony, masturbate. You don't have to actually do it if you can fake it well for the picture. Of course, if you'd rather do it for real that's fine with me." He grins and takes another nibble.

"You can't-" I stop myself before I finish with 'be serious' since there's no reason to give him an opportunity to make a poor pun with his name, "mean that." The heartthrob merely raises his eyebrows as he sucks on the sugary dessert and my saliva that's on it from moments ago. I sigh in defeat. "You realise this will be a lot harder for me to manage than the last one?"

He swallows the final piece of the quill. "I know, but I have fantasies about you doing this all the time, so it'd be brilliant if you could do it so my daydreams could be a little more accurate from now on."

"You fantasise about me?" Naturally, he's on my mind if I'm ever in _the mood, _and I assumed I was on his occasionally, but to learn that I am 'all the time' is somewhat surprising. After all, there's loads of better looking people at school, and he has the memories of all of his former lovers to visit.

"'Course. Who else would I fantasise about?" He tilts his head akin to the gesture a curious puppy would make. "Not offended, are you? 'Cause if you are I think it's only fair to let you know you that I don't think I can stop."

Offended is an affectivity I'm most certainly not. What I am is adulated, and relieved that he prefers dreams of me instead of others. "It's okay. Well, except the part about calling it my Mini-Moony." I'm shy about sharing this next part, yet it seems justified to admit it once I take into account the information he gave to me. "I think about you, too."

"I'd be insulted if you didn't, and if you don't let me call it Mini-Moony I'll think of something more disturbing." I chortle, recognising the verity in both points. "Let me see you do it."

My amusement dissipates whilst my form adjusts into the designated pose again. Cautiously, I guide my fingers underneath the skirt. I do not possess the courage or the desire to partake in this intimate event in view of Sirius, thus I must remember how I behave when I do it. My digits cup and stroke me, and my eyes roll back, 

and…that's all I can recollect. I move my hand up and down beneath the garment without truly touching myself and try to force my eyeballs in the opposite direction.

I doubt this appears realistic and my suspicion is confirmed when Sirius says, "Make it believable. Throw back your head and part your lips to call out when you come." His breath hitches on the last word. "Can you make yourself flush?"

No, I can't force a tinge upon my cheeks. I've endeavoured to do so with teachers in the past and failed. The only way I'm going to get the visual of pleasuring myself across is to actually do it. Sirius won't see what's occurring beneath the fabric; he won't be aware if I'm faking or literally doing the act.

For stimulation, I intently watch the young man before me, taking in his mussed hair, sugar-coated lips, and oiled bare chest. To prepare myself I inhale deeply and slowly. Then, I lower my fingertips onto my member. I can feel the soft pressure through the thin material of my underpants as I squeeze the head. I emit the quietest of gasps and thereupon drag the pads of my fingers to the base. Supporting the sacs with my palm, I stroke the length that I can reach; my fingers aren't long enough to arrive at the tip. I continue these ministrations for several seconds until my cranium angles back, exposing my neck. My optics lose focus so that my eyes are open without me seeing anything. I take my entire hand and wrap it around the clothed cock. My tongue wets my lips in anticipation and I unhurriedly move my hand forward and backward along the soft organ that is gradually becoming firmer. A little groan escapes me.

Next, I hear a deeper groan that is certainly not my own. My gaze refocuses and I return to reality.

Sirius' jaw is hanging open. Oh no, I must have appeared ridiculous to generate such a reaction! Merlin, I shouldn't have done that in front of him! I've made a dolt of myself. Why hasn't he laughed yet, or even shut his yap? Wait, is that drool? It is! His orbs are glazed over as well. Uh-oh. Did he go into some sort of trance?

Sitting up and snapping my fingernails to obtain his heedfulness, I query warily, "Sirius, are you still with me here?"

"Huh?" He closes his mouth and glances around as if unsure about where he is. "I, uh…M'fine."

"Did you get the photo?" If I looked as foolish as I speculate that I did, I hope no evidence was taken.

"The what?" he answers cluelessly. Why is he behaving like this?

"The picture." I point at the camera dangling from his limp hand.

Sirius' line of vision follows the path of my digit and his eyes widen in realisation. "Oh! Nah, I didn't. I was too distracted."

"Distracted by what?" I am not doing that a second time simply due to his short attention span.

"By you, obviously. That was the hottest thing I've ever seen!" His lingering leer is opaque with lust and fascination, and it causes gooseflesh to rise along my arms and spine in a fashion that is both pleasant and nerve-wracking. "Do it again." The husky neediness in his voice during the utterance of this request unbalances him as much as it does me, judging by the virtually imperceptible colour forming on the uppermost portions of his ears. Sirius Black seldom has a pinkish hue anywhere on his aristocratic face unless it stems from rage. I am unable to decide if I should be experiencing guilt or gladness that I could cause the tint. "Please, Moony. I'd like to have a picture."

I rub my temples wearily, though I reposition myself without protestation. How can I refuse when he said 'please?'

I do the process over, however, this time I don't completely lose my alertness. I'm mitigated when the unreasonably bright flash indicates that the action was captured on film and I can be normal once more, or as normal as a homosexual werewolf with an affinity for libraries can be.

I stand and stretch to ease the tension of the past few strenuous minutes from my muscles. The relief that I succeeded at the assignment, and managed to emerge without dissolving into a puddle of mortified goo, is so immense that I don't care that Sirius is ogling the strip of my abdomen that's revealed when I extend my arms above my head.

Sirius' eyelids are lowered and his lips are pressed together as he makes an almost inaudible contented noise in the bottom of his larynx. It reminds of the sound I 

produce when I savour the taste of a particularly delicious chocolate. "Thank you."

"Um, you're welcome, I guess." Not very articulate of me, but courtesy is unusual for Sirius, and hearing him say 'please' and 'thank you' within the same three-hundred seconds is too befuddling to render me capable of concocting a better sentiment. "So, what are you going to do with the photos?"

"Wank off to them when I have to go the whole summer without seeing you." I crepitate in stupefaction, yet he pretends not to realise it and continues, "I'm going to need some of you in the school uniform, too. Well, part of the uniform; don't you want you covered in _that_ much clothing. We'll worry about that another time."

Another time? I'm anxious about it now. Apprehensively, I bounce up and down on the balls of my feet.

"You know," Sirius remarks. "You remind me of a frog when you do that." My quizzical expression must clearly convey, 'Do what?'for he elucidates, "You hop around a lot and make me want to jump you."

"Very funny," I scoff sarcastically, internally rejoicing in triumph that I did not blush and that he's no longer being disconcertingly polite. "Really great way of letting someone know that you want them."

"Yep," agrees the cavalier animagus, "everyone at Hogwarts thinks I'm funny."

I nod. "That's true. I can't count the number of times I've listened to people mutter, 'there's something funny about that Sirius Black.'"

"Yeah? Well, here's what I have to say to that!" He sticks his tongue out childishly. He seems gratified when his antics make me smile in an exasperatedly amused way. "Should we go to bed? We could stay up and take more pictures if you want to." He's still smug, already knowing my feelings on the subject.

Exhaustion is far away in the distant future, but given the alternative I would rather glean more rest than I require. "I opt for sleep." I lay on the mattress to emphasise my vote.

"Figured you would." His customary smirk is in place as he unbuttons his trousers.

My relaxed body bolts upright. "What the fudge are you doing?" I find common 

profanities crude. Chocolate is nearly my god; therefore it is its name that I use in vain aloud under stress. My prayers to Merlin I tend to keep within my unspoken musings.

Mischief glitters in his eyes as his trousers drop to the floor. What's revealed are a pair of silken black shorts that hug his hipbones and muscular thighs tightly enough to result in the bulge beneath the fabric being very noticeable. "Getting ready for bed. I always sleep like this in the dorm." This isn't the dorm. This is a hotel, a hotel that is quite romantic where we are quite alone and Sirius is looking quite shaggable. This will indubitably induce quite a lot of problems for Mini-Moony and I.

Swallowing to alleviate my suddenly dry throat, I comment as evenly as possible, "I know, but since we're sleeping together tonight you shouldn't come to bed without wearing anything."

"I've got pants on." He ambles towards the bed much more enticingly than necessary.

"They're not decent!" I protest. If Propriety were a person he'd be bribing Ministry officials to grant him permission to cast the Infertility Curse on Sirius so that the undignified behavioral genes would not be passed on.

My immodest date reclines casually on the opposite side of the bed. Although we're half of a foot apart, I'm convinced I can feel the heat coming off of his unconcealed body. "Would it be better if I took them off?"

I ignore the affirmation my treacherous body screeches and I answer as sternly as possible, "We're barely legal-aged, so you being almost naked isn't appropriate."

"You're right." Sirius' serious reply confounds me until he adds, "It's unfair for me to the only one that's nearly nude. You should take your clothes off." The wink is as saucy as it traditionally is, though the softness of his smile assures me that he is joking instead of implying that I do something I'm not comfortable with.

I give him a facetious sideways glance that is a sufficient comeback.

"Such a shame." Sirius sighs dramatically before beaming at me. "Well, if I'm going to fall asleep you're going to have to perform another service for me."



"What's that?" I question despite the fact that I do not wish to know. I've already snogged him, massaged him, and posed for him. There aren't many things remaining that he could desire.

A large leather tome is taken out of the same bedside cabinet that the camera was produced from. Sirius drops the thick book onto my lap, which causes me to let an_ oof_ of air. "Read to me."

Perplexity and interest compete for dominance as I examine the volume entitled Medieval Poetry. "Why reading, and why this?"

The pureblood shrugs his perfect and exposed broad shoulders. "I like the sound of your voice, so it'd be nice to have it lull me to sleep. Since it's your voice I cared about hearing, and not what you were saying, I thought I might as well have you read something that you like."

As much as I don't want to be 'girly,' I cannot suppress the joy that shows on my visage due to how sweet that proclamation is.

He reaches over and traces my upturned lips with the tip of his index finger. "I love it when you smile like that." Before I can have a retroaction he rests his head upon the pillows and veils his optics.

I open to a page at random somewhere near the middle, and begin perusing all of the works aloud in order from that point, mentally critiquing each piece that I encounter. I still expect Sirius to require assistance of a more physical nature from me before drifting into the Land of Nod.

Forty minutes go by and I commence having doubts. "Padfoot?"

His eyes remain closed, but he acknowledges me. "Hmm?"

"Is this," I gesture to the book even though he cannot view the indication, "all you're going to want?"

"Till I fall asleep? Yeah." He doesn't seem weary, so I'll probably be reading for another hour or two. Maybe I should get a glass of water. "Then, I want you to go to sleep next to me so your face will be the first thing I see when I wake up."

"Oh." I blink repeatedly, thrown off kilter by the romantic notion. "I thought…" I 

leave the statement unfinished, for I do not precisely know how to vocalise my speculation.

Eventually, he looks at me. Sirius is more insightful than most people give him credit for and proves it by commenting in an unhappy tone, "You thought that I'd make you my sex toy."

I've offended him somehow and I cannot foresee a way that mendacity would remedy it, thus I confess, "Well, yes."

Discussing topics delicately was never his forte. "You should know me better than that. Yes, I want you. How could I not? But I wouldn't force you to shag me. I won't pretend that I wasn't hoping that tonight we could go a little farther than we have before, but I honestly wasn't expecting outright sex 'cause you've made it clear you're not ready yet." He does not sound accusatory. Nonetheless, I stare regretfully at the book in my hands without actually witnessing it.

"Padfoot, I'm just…afraid." Finally saying it aloud makes it more real, and unbidden droplets sting my eyes. I close them tightly and take a few shuddering breaths to recompose myself. The tears dry up without being shed and I reveal my orbs again. I see that Sirius sat up during my seconds of meditation. If he were anyone aside from Sirius Black, I'd categorise him as looking melancholy.

"You're afraid of me?" He sounds melancholy, too.

"Afraid of losing you, more like." I'm proud of how steady my voice is.

"How would doing something that brings people in a relationship closer make you lose me?" So genuinely puzzled. Of course he doesn't understand.

I hesitate ere electing to explain everything. Why spend time dreading about what shall happen in the future if I can get it over with now? "You can play me like an instrument. While I'm normally in control of myself, we both know that you can make me react any way that you want when you put loads of effort into it. You love to be spontaneous, and you'll soon get bored with someone this easy for you to predict. When you do break up with me, I'd like to go back to being friends, but making my feelings for you return to a platonic level will be harder if we've made love. Plus, you have experience with both genders and I have none at all. I can't compete with all of those people. I won't be good enough for you."



Sirius is white with rage, as I feared he might be, yet when he expresses his fury it's strangely not directed at me. "What the bloody hell is wrong with me! What have I done, or failed to do, that's made you think like this?" He shakes his head to dislodge such musings. His tendency to abstain from remaining upset with himself for long is a luxury I am unable to acquire. He beckons me forward, looking uncharacteristically solemn. I deposit the poems on the cabinet and crawl forward until I am centimetres from my boyfriend. He wraps his arms around my slender body and gazes into my eyes. "I'd never let you go, Remus. I'm in love with you." He sighs a bit remorsefully. "I guess that wasn't as obvious as I thought."

Gaping rather more stupidly than I'd like, I ask, "What?" I must have heard him incorrectly.

"I love you. I could never get bored with being able to take advantage of you." He grins, his customary mood restored. "I feel honoured that no one else can break through your polite mask. If you weren't mine, somebody else might learn how, and I'd be sick with jealousy. You wouldn't want me to be ill, would you? All of those people I was with were just ways of trying to stop myself from thinking of you. It didn't work. I always imagined you every time I touched them, and they never satisfied me. Really, _they_ were competing with _you_ and didn't know they had competition."

These revelations cause a dizziness that nearly prohibits me from speaking. "In that case, you must have extremely high expectations for me. I won't measure up."

"You'll be even better than my fantasies," he proclaims with conviction, drawing us down so that we're lying side by side on the bed. Again, I inhale to absorb his essence through my nose; his famous pine shampoo, the chamomile lotion recently used, and that heady, zesty fragrance of danger that's naturally part of him that someone without a lycanthropic sense would not value as greatly as it deserves.

Scarcely concentrating focus under the influence of the aromas, I murmur, "How do you know?"

"I'm Sirius Black," announces Sirius as though it ought to be unambiguous. "I know everything."

I snort incredulously.

Unperturbed, he goes on, "Besides, don't you usually get Exceeds Expectations on 

your exams? You will with this as well."

I chuckle at the absurd logic that only Sirius can create.

"You know," he remarks, tilting my chin upwards with a finger, "you haven't told me that you love me yet." Not _if_ you love me, _that _you love me. He's so full of himself. I wouldn't want him any other way.

"Of course I tol-" I break off in mid-sentence and replay our conversation in my consciousness. I haven't stated it! I pray late at night when it's too dark to see the nose at the end of my face that someday Sirius might love me. Now that he declared that he does, I neglect to inform him that the feeling is mutual. What's come over me? How could I be so thoughtless? Why…why is Sirius laughing?

"I w-wish you could s-see how hor-horrified you look!" His head of midnight locks is thrown back and the noise of almost canine mirth echoes off of the room's walls. Once it subsides he surveys me simpering. "Relax. I already know that you love me. You don't need to say it. After all, how could anyone not worship me?" He brings our lips together, though he pulls back before I can respond. "You _do _love me, right?"

I smile at this rare moment of vulnerability, knowing the instant that I confirm it I won't see another for a long while. "Completely and irreversibly."

When his dark eyes light up warmth spreads outwards from my heart to the rest of my body. "Good. You're officially mine for all eternity, then."

The word 'eternity' brightens my smile, but it isn't the term I inquire about. "Officially?"

"Oh, yes, my innocent werewolf. You've verbally agreed to a powerful contract that forever binds you to me." Without another word his hand near my chin caresses my cheek and he kisses me with much more tenderness than usual. After several blissful minutes of this, he guides my head to his bare chest to indicate that I should sleep.

My eyelids flutter shut, however, my mind is too busy processing all that Sirius has told me this evening for me to possess a hope of finding rest anytime soon. He loves me and, in spite of everyone else he's dated, I'm the only person that he ever wanted. He feels privileged by how well he can read me and would hate it if 

another individual had the skill to do it. He cares about me even though I have not given my virginity to him and offered no guarantee of when I would do so. He's willing to wait for me to bestow him with that, and convinced that it'll be worth it when I do. All of this information sums up to one conclusion:

"Sirius, I'm ready now."

**Note:** I'm so sorry for the delay! I've had this chapter completed for a couple of months, but the fan on my laptop broke. I was on vacation for _weeks_, and couldn't send it back to the company for repairs until I returned. After I sent it out, I still had to wait a week and a half for it to come back to me. It also doesn't help that I have a cute new kitten demanding my attention. However, kitten or not, the next update will arrive with a _much_ shorter interlude. If you review it'll give me incentive to produce the following chapter more quickly! I hope my explanation of Remus' reluctance satisfied you all. I have the same insecurites about sex that Remus does in this fic, though my scars are figurative rather than physical. Writing this is like therapy for me, like _if Remus can overcome his anxiety and enjoy himself then I can too_. And he WILL be enjoying himself. See, don't you want the next chapter faster now? Oh, in case if anyone's interested in knowing; I did well on most of my exams. Let's hope this school term is even better.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Ready for what?" His fingers are twisting my hair between them are idle, though his voice is alert and curious.

"To…to share myself with you." Even I'm surprised by how placid I am.

The digits fall away from my head. He leans up in order to witness my visage, which causes my head to slide off of his chest and land on the pillow. "Moony, I believe when you say that you love me; you don't have to prove it or anything. I can wait however long you need before I fill up your untouched body and keen senses so that you can't think of anything but me, and are totally ruined for other men." The speech is finished with a suggestive smirk. Evidently, the concept of being such an amazing lover that no one after him could bring me gratification appeals to Sirius. Merlin, his sexy arrogance recognises no boundaries! That smirk on his face would result in many people wishing to smack it. All I want is to skim my tongue across it.

"I appreciate that, and I believe you, but it's okay. I want this. I want you. Now." He requires no more encouragement; he judges that I can decide what's right for myself. The irresistible smirk widens, and before I can blink our bodies are aligned perfectly with him covering every centimetre of me.

He whispers in my ear, "If you're my instrument I'll play your body and dance to the pretty music that you make." It doesn't come as a shock that he would use me referring to myself as an instrument for his own purposes.

My heart rate quickens sporadically, a combination of both nervousness and arousal. "Just promise not to sing along. You can't hold a tune, and it'll completely ruin the mood."

"Git." He pecks my forehead lightly. "What I swear is to be gentle with you." His grin is wicked as he adds, "At least for this time."

His offer is oddly kind, and I'm grateful for it, however, it isn't necessary. "Thanks, Pads, but I'm a werewolf. I'm sure I can handle it." Penetration can't be a fraction of the torment that transformation is. I'm actually not worried about the impending physical strain at all, for I've got my lack of practise in the area of intimacy to fret over.



"Just because you can take it doesn't mean I'll make it more painful than it needs to be, so I swear it anyhow." He seals his promise with a kiss, and I instantly feel comfortable now that I'm back in the familiar territory of Sirius' mouth. My hands move along his back that is slick with anticipatory sweat. He breaks our locked lips to unceremoniously yank the blouse above my head and toss it to the floor. Fingertips trace the scars that create uneven patterns on my flesh and I blush self-consciously at his scrutiny. "Wow, Remus, I didn't expect you to be _this_ beautiful. Your skin is like artwork…"

I open my mouth to speak, yet any words I would have uttered are lost in the sharp breath that I take in when Sirius replaces the touch on my torso with his tongue. He sucks on my nipples until they're perky enough for his liking. Then, he kisses down my abdomen to the waistband of the skirt. His hand wanders beneath it and he frowns when he notices there's more fabric obstructing his way.

"Did you really have to wear something underneath?" He's impatient, but he remains true to his vow to me, and is gentle while guiding the skirt and undergarment down my legs.

"Well, if is was windy-"

The pragmatic explanation abruptly dies while Sirius chortles, "Rhetorical question spoken in the heat of desire, Moony."

"Full desire? Already?" I sit up and glance down my naked form, feeling that my cock is torrid in contrast with the cool air temperature, though I am not close to climax.

"Wanna see?" He waits until I return my attention to him, whereupon he drops the last article of clothing that he's wearing. A pleased beam appears on his handsome features whilst he watches me choke with awe at the image of the magnificent length pressing against his stomach.

"How're you…Because of me…But I haven't done anything for you yet, have I?" The professors would be disappointed that their model student has become this ineloquent all of a sudden.

"You, my sweet, have had this building in me all day." Sirius mustn't want to talk anymore because without warning he swoops down on my nether regions. My back arches backwards so far when he nibbles the uppermost portion of my thighs that 

it's not long ere I fall prostrate among the sheets again with velvety petals pressing into me. The rough stubble on his chin rubs my balls and I think that naught could be more delightful until the moist cavern of Sirius' oral cavity encompasses me and I can see his dark cranium bobbing up and down. His tongue is teasing my hardening organ in the manner that he typically treats my tongue during a particularly intense snogging session. I moan syllables that I cannot remember and whimper when he suddenly releases me.

"Please, Siri…I'm halfway there." Conversing is difficult. I can't breathe properly.

Sirius looks satisfied at the effect he's having on me. "I know. Can't have you come too soon." With alacrity he retrieves the gel-like lotion I used during the massage and squeezes a glob onto his fingers. "On your knees, Remus." I cannot determine if this is a command or a request because his voice has grown husky with need. Either way, disobeying doesn't occur to me, and I rise to my knees. He kneels in front of me. "Turn around." I obligingly do that too, fairly certain I know where this is heading and I tense up with excitement. Not a heartbeat later, his lubricated hand is on my rear. "This is gonna hurt no matter what since you're pure-" he pauses to linger lovingly over the word "-but it'll be worse if you don't relax." I inhale and exhale as evenly as I can, given the stimulating circumstances, and my muscles unclench somewhat. A finger slips inside of me easily, followed by another. A third enters with more effort. They slide in and out rhythmically, evicting noises from me that I didn't know I could make, until they're removed and replaced by the tip of my lover's penis. "Let me know if it hurts too much, and I'll pull out." How can he manage to be coherent? At this point, there's no possibility that I could even if my existence relied on it.

Arms encircle my waist and fingers intertwine with mine. Sirius guides our connected hands to my throbbing sex. His warm palms are pressing mine against my warmer manhood. "Set the pace, Moony. Show me how you like it." That sexy sentence impassions me as much as our nakedness. I'm shuddering from lust to such a heightened degree that it astonishes me that I am able to do the mundane task of sliding my digits up and down. Once Sirius memorises my rhythm he takes over the control of our finger motions. Slowly, he enters me from behind. Pain ensues, a pain that's white-hot and somehow blinds my closed eyes. Thankfully, it is mollified by the pleasure of the attention being given to my hardness.

He thrusts inside of me and pumps my shaft in synchronised movements. My backside adjusts, causing the sharp agony to diminish to a dull throbbing. In contrast, the pressure between my legs escalates wonderfully and frustratingly. The 

steady motions of his hands and cock increase in unison until, as he loses focus in his fervor, they become erratic. In a mix of excruciation and euphoria I throw my head back onto Sirius' shoulder. He twists his head sideways to kiss me forcefully. The angle is probably awkward for his neck, however, he refuses to relinquish my lips. The talent of his tongue and the joy of being able to release myself in his hands is enough ecstasy to distract me from the sweet torment of his final pushes within my body. That distraction must be why he didn't wish for me to climax prior to this moment. He discharges his passion inside of me. Does he cry out in my mouth or I in his? It's impossible to fathom.

Our tongues reluctantly disentangle themselves and we swallow gargantuan gulps of essential oxygen. I'm collapsed against his chest and literally stuck to him; we are both thinly layered in viscid sweat. His pulse is gradually calming along my spine. With his semen and cooling erection still buried in me I feel pleasantly full, like how I do after an excellent meal.

There is a murmur in my damp hair: "Sorry I was rougher than I meant to be at the end. Couldn't help myself."

"S'okay. I liked it." I never contemplated that something might be missing from my life, yet I conceive that there must have been since I now feel utterly complete in a fashion that I haven't before.

A vibration behind me indicates that Sirius is chuckling, the low, masculine chuckle that a man produces when he knows an intimate secret about his partner that he can use to a personal advantage. He eases out of me, leaving an ache in his wake that informs me that I will be sore by morning. It'll undoubtedly be worth it. "Come on." He nudges me towards the pillows. We rest our skulls on them and drape the blankets over our spooning bodies. Sirius' silence holds for so long that I suspect he'd prefer not to discuss what transpired until we nap. He certainly comes across as an individual that wouldn't want to talk much succeeding sex. Consequently, I am truly surprised when he asks, "How was it? And don't say 'sticky;' we can shower together tomorrow."

Repressing the urge to snigger, I take his question to heart. This is one field I did not ever suspect Sirius Black to be insecure about. Well, it will cost me no dignity to feed his ego. "You were incredible. The press of your skin made me feel desirable for once, and I was so aroused I thought I'd explode." I smile in gratitude and proclaim with verity what I know will please him most. "You ruined me for other men."

He grins. "I'm glad to hear you say that. I mean, I know I'm a good shag," Ah, so he's not insecure about that. "I just had to make sure it was enjoyable enough for you that you didn't regret it. After all, it was your first time and everything…"

If there are any doubts about Sirius' love for me they immediately evaporate. "Supposing I had the option to change what happened, I wouldn't switch a thing except that I didn't do much for you while you did so much for me."

"Trusting me with your virginity was more than enough." He leans forward and traces my lips with his own, not quite kissing me. "But, if you insist, next time I promise to let your well-spoken mouth suck me dry." He laughs outright when my cheeks turn scarlet.

I will my face to its normal shade and my tone to remain serene as I query, "Since we're on the subject…was I good? It's important that it meant something emotionally that I gave myself to you, but - you know, physically - did I get an Exceeds Expectations?"

This time he does kiss me. A long, deep one filled with felicity and adoration that creates sparks of light behind my veiled eyes and shoots electricity through my nude form. I am dizzy with rapture once he grants me breath again. "Outstanding, my little Prefect."

**Minerva's Note:** I got the chapter out quickly just like I promised! Let me know what you thought of it! I tried hard to make it pleasurable for both of them, but nothing too cliché-ly perfect. It annoys me when they're unreasonably good at sex on their first attempt. You noticed Sirius didn't hit Remus' sweet spot, didn't you? A sweet spot will be hit during their next time. Oh, yes, there will be a next time. The story isn't over yet! What's left isn't ALL smut either; I've got a few jokes and tender moments left.


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